


Vralian Resolutions

by kmo



Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey
Genre: Huddling For Warmth, Kushiel's Justice, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 05:38:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmo/pseuds/kmo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Vralian blizzard heats things up between Imriel and Maslin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vralian Resolutions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jesatria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesatria/gifts).



> You could interpret this as either a missing scene from _Kushiel's Justice_ or as a smuttier AU version of Imriel and Maslin's return journey.

Maslin and I had nearly covered half the distance of our journey to Miroslas when we were beset by a raging blizzard. The wind whipped through the dense forest, stinging our faces, like blows from the whip hand of some angry Vralian winter spirit. Soon drifts blocked our path, and we were forced to dismount and walk beside our shaggy ponies, waist-deep in snow. The storm turned the world a ghastly winter white so blinding we could see no farther than a handsbreath in front of our own faces. Not wanting to lose the path entirely, we took shelter beneath a grandfather pine, hugging our horses—and our own bodies—close to one another for warmth. It was astonishing how quickly the Vralian winter could turn one’s enemy into one’s ally, if not one’s friend.

I could not have told you how long the tempest lasted, only that it left us frostbitten, frightened, and frozen to the core. When the storm cleared, it was nearly sunset. Through the weak northern light, Maslin spotted a hunter’s cabin not far off from where we stood. “We should make for shelter. Mayhap they will take us in.” I merely grunted, too numb for speech.

The snows were heavy and deep, making a journey that should not have taken more than fifteen minutes last the better part of an hour. But the promise of that cabin and a warm fire kept us going. Even if we had not nearly lost our lives in a blizzard, it would have been a welcome respite from a night spent sleeping on the cold ground. We reached the cabin to find it empty. “Must have gone south for the winter like sparrows,” I muttered. “What shall we do?”

In response, Maslin kicked the door open with his snow-covered boot and strode inside. Whatever moral objection I had to entering someone else’s home was overridden by my pragmatism. I did not track Berlik through the Vralian winter waste to die of exposure on the return journey.

“We’ll use our own provisions and replace their wood before we leave. No harm done, I suppose.” Maslin silently agreed and went outside to tend to the horses.

Although we were blessedly out of the wind and shielded from the elements, the temperature inside the log cabin would have made Montrève’s icehouse look warm by comparison. I set to work building a fire, giving thanks to Elua, Kushiel, and whatever Vralian gods might hear me that the cabin’s owners had left behind a cord of firewood and plenty of tinder. My fingers were stiff and numb and I could barely grasp the flint in my mittened hand, but either by sheer determination or pure luck I was sitting by a gloriously warm fire by the time Maslin returned.

“There’s a stable out back. I put the horses in there and gave them fodder. I packed them in tight with pine boughs and our saddle blankets,” he said, tossing his pack at my feet.

“It’s not ideal, but doubtlessly warmer than they would be outside,” I said.

“Elua’s sodding balls, Imriel, I’m soaked to the core,” Maslin lamented. With no shame at all, Maslin stripped off his fur outergarments, followed by his woolen tunic and undershirt until he was clad in naught but his thin trousers. He was about to divest himself of those as well, but he stopped unlacing them as soon as he caught the shocked blush on my face.

“Don’t just sit there blushing like an Alyssum adept, get your kit off, Imriel. You can’t ride around all day in wet trousers, you’ll catch your death,” he chided me.

I knew Maslin spoke the truth. The snow and sleet had soaked clear through to my underclothes. They would do no good to me wet and frozen. Averting my eyes from Maslin’s nakedness, I cast off all my wet clothes save my trousers and arranged them on the back of a wooden chair near the fire. Maslin eyed me strangely for keeping my underclothes on, but said nothing. He arranged the cabin’s blankets and sole straw mattress along with our bedrolls in a sort of nest by the fire, unashamed of his own nakedness and utterly unaware of my discomfort.

“I’m too bloody tired to even contemplate dinner after today. Let’s just go to bed,” Maslin said, burrowing his naked body beneath the furs and blankets. There was a thin space next to him on the narrow mattress, which I supposed was meant for me. I choked down my apprehension, refusing to let Maslin have the satisfaction of seeing me blush a second time. I lay down beside him, attempting to put as many precious inches of mattress between myself and Maslin as I could.

It was all in vain, as Maslin soon threw a muscular arm about my waist, drawing me close enough to feel the warmth of his chest against my back. “In guard training, we were taught in situations like this it is best to conserve body heat. False modesty won’t do you much good if you’re dead from the cold.”

I grimaced and said nothing, willing my exhausted body to collapse into a dreamless slumber. As I was about to drift off, Maslin said jauntily, “Don’t worry, my prince, I promise not to bugger you in your sleep.”

His words hit me hard and square in my most wounded places. I sat up and moved away, taking more than my fair share of blankets with me. There was no way he could have known the effect such words would have upon me. Still, I burned with fear and trembled with anger. “Don’t ever joke about that,” I spat.

Maslin stared at me, puzzled. “I’m sorry. It was a jest…a bad one perhaps, but I meant nothing by it.”

I shook my head. “I know.” I paused and drew the furs tighter around me. I looked at him, silver-hair and pale skin glowing in the firelight. Maslin and I had shared much…about our treacherous parents, about Sidonie. Ah Elua, in that moment, weak and weary as I was, something inside me cracked open and I felt compelled to share one thing more. I fumbled for my words. “The men who took me as a child…they _did_ , you see. They hurt me, branded me as if I was an animal, their possession. And I suppose I have never gotten over it.”

Knowledge dawned in Maslin’s sharp, cold eyes, turning them unexpectedly soft. "I’m such a fool…so naïve…I never knew, never realized. Those bastards…they committed _heresy_ against you…a child?” he asked, incredulous.

“What exactly do you think happens to a lovely young boy sold into slavery?” I said, not bothering to hide the pain and sarcasm in my voice.

I would not have thought Maslin could ever look humble, but in that moment he did. “I thought perhaps you had to work in the fields or wait at table like a bondservant,” he said sheepishly.

I snorted. “If only." 

“Shows how little I know of the world outside Terre d’Ange.” Maslin shook his head and gave out a strangled laugh. “You know, Sidonie told me once she’d like to watch me with another man. I just assumed that you had done that for her…probably with that preening peacock you’re always hanging around.”

“Mavros?!? But he’s my cousin.”

Maslin arched a silver brow. “He’s a Shahrizai. And so are you.”

“By nature perhaps, but not by nurture. There’s a difference.”

“I see that now,” Maslin told me sincerely. “So, you _are_ a maid. With men at least.”

I shrugged and pretended a nonchalance I didn't really feel. “I suppose I am.” I crept back to the center of the mattress, still clutching the furs tightly about my waist. Maslin closed his eyes and when he opened them, they were so soft and warm, and held a kindness I wouldn't have thought him capable of. He laid a hand gently on my thigh and this time I did not pull away.

“I am sorry, so very sorry for what those men did to you, Imriel. But just as you are not your mother and I am not my father, neither are the men who hurt you all men.” I swallowed, feeling a lump in my throat and tears spring to my eyes. He grasped my shaking hand in his own and raised it to his lips. “Let me show you,” he said.

I took a good look at the man beside me, who just a few months before I would have counted as a rival, if not an enemy. Maslin had long silvery lashes, prettier than any girl’s. Long fair hair cascaded over his pale shoulder and fell across a firmly muscled chest. Desire stirred within me, awaking like an animal after a long winter’s sleep. I thought of the Balm adept who had helped me to find healing that first night. Maslin and I had already shared so much and traveled so far. I gripped his hand harder, feeling his sword callouses rub up against my own. Perhaps tonight I could take one step farther on the road to healing.

I cupped his chin in my hand and covered his firm lips with my own, sliding my tongue inside for the tiniest taste. I let that kiss be my answer.

 

*****

Later, we two lay by the fireside spent with passion and considerably warmer than we were several hours before. I pulled Maslin closer, and reveled in feeling his smooth, muscled chest against my own, like marble brushing against alabaster. I never expected to be able to find pleasure like this in another man’s arms, least of all Maslin’s. I chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” Maslin asked, tugging affectionately at my dark locks.

“Phèdre once told me some quarrels are best resolved in the bedchamber. I never believed her until now.”

Maslin sat up and smirked. “Well, her choice of foster son aside, I’ve always found the Comtesse de Montrève to be an uncommonly wise woman.”

“Cheeky bastard.” 

“Oh, I know,” Maslin said with a wink and a hint of lust in his eye. He moved to straddle my hips and I could feel his erect phallus brush up against my own invitingly.

“I thought we were going to get some rest,” I said in a tone of mock concern.

Maslin rocked his hips teasingly against me and I was forced to bite my lip to keep from moaning. “We will…eventually. But, should we not take the comtesse's wisdom to heart? I feel our quarrel barely half-resolved.”

I was inclined to agree, grasping Maslin’s smooth flank to pull our bodies closer, causing him to sigh with pleasure. I smiled and knew we would find ourselves sore in the morning, and not merely from the saddle. 


End file.
